Useless Feels
by PrussianKnight9
Summary: Sometimes, it's no use pretending nothing mattered anymore, such as emotions. Because Deidara knew they were there, locked away and forgotten deep, deep down, rusty with unuse. Rated T to be safe. Not meant to be a SasoDei fic, but you can read it like that if you want. Naruto characters belong to their respectful owner, Kishimoto Masashi.
1. Chapter 1

** A/N: This is my first fanfiction that I am uploading on this website! I accept constructive criticism, but please no pointless flames. Thank you! :)**

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Deidara had always prided himself in being able to predict things.

It was one of the reasons why he was so excellent at improvising whenever he found himself in a pinch, every time his assigned mission partner wasn't there to back him up.

It was the gifted ability to whip up yet another spontaneous, brilliant strategy in the heat of battle, the flash of ideas that his mind creates despite already being pre-occupied with trying to prevent his ass from being slaughtered off, that was probably what made him so different from Sasori.

Sasori of the Red Sand, ever the strategist, was so, so different from the clay bomber.

While Deidara had a short, explosive temper much alike his creations, Sasori was always waiting, always calculating, never indulging himself, and never taking more steps than absolutely necessary.

Other times, he was almost bouncing on his heels like the child he looks to be, impatience running thick through his demeanour like a muddy river, insisting that he hated to wait.

Deidara had always found this to be almost hilariously ironic.

While Sasori never went as far as Deidara himself as to purposely let his art become noticeable to the entire world population, he held just as much pride in his work as much as the blonde did in his. When in the occasional few moments he displayed them, he made sure his opponents got a very firm taste of their true beauty.

This was probably the reason why Deidara could never predict his partner.

No matter what the puppet master said and insisted, his actions always seemed to contradict his words, or vice versa. It was as if he was living an invisible paradox.

Unlike all others, Sasori had confused him just as much as he had come to respect his talents and intelligence. It was a foreign feeling, to not be able to read and predict him like an open book.

And Deidara hated both himself and his partner for it.

Because he couldn't predict, he could never be prepared for an oncoming attack that spilled from the redhead's mouth on a bad day, or read every single one of his simplest actions, or understand why he chose some of the paths in his life that Deidara couldn't fathom for the love of God why he would do such a thing.

In other words, he was vulnerable.

To Sasori's credit, however, he never took intentional advantage of it.

It was an unspoken understanding that one's pride should be left untouched and not messed with, even despite their usual bickering over their clashing opinions about art.

Sometimes, Deidara would lie in his bed after a particularly long and boring day, and wonder what their partnership would've been like if Sasori didn't make the choices he had all those years ago. He doubted that it would've been any more or less eventful, but certainly more... _alive. _At times, he wondered what it would be like to stroll into the kitchen and join your partner for lunch, or walk into the bathroom and see another toothbrush placed alongside your own.

And then Deidara would be ripped out of his thoughts as the lights flicked off without warning. As much as Sasori hated to admit it, he needed to sleep, in order to replenish his chakra.

Deidara wasn't sure if he felt happy about this small humane attribute that was still left in his partner, or sad.

Sometimes, when his partner emerges from the ugly puppet cage he locks himself in, Deidara can't help but feel a little pang in his heart he recognizes as sadness, or even pity. He knows they are unnecessary, and that Sasori surely didn't need anyone's sympathy, but Deidara found himself secretly giving him a little every day. And he didn't stop it.

When they weren't fighting, Deidara would notice that Sasori had never really grown up, never really left his old self, just like his appearance said so. He was like a small child, stubbornly clinging to their dreams that everyone knew that could not be true. At times, Deidara would see Sasori as no more than a frightened boy who'd lost his parents, who blindly gave up everything to become what he wanted, resulting in an incomplete masterpiece that could not be reversed or fixed to perfection, that couldn't fall into any specific category. It was the last piece of the puzzle that had been manufactured too small, and therefore couldn't fit.

For once in his life, Deidara wasn't sure what to do.

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	2. Chapter 2

When Deidara first saw Sasori's true form, he seriously believed it to be a joke.

Of course, he was only officially introduced to Sasori in his Hiruko, his partner would call his apparent shell. Deidara had at first doubted the fact that the slouched-over being was only a puppet, no matter how grotesque it may look, let alone believe that any man could actually fit inside the thing. So Deidara was in for a surprise when he returned from a solo mission one day and barged into their shared rooms, only to come face to face with a strange boy. He was shorter than Deidara by just a few centimeters, and was in no way older than him. He had a messy mop of flaming red hair and tired brown eyes with thick eyelashes. His face remained blank save for a slight scowl of irritation.

"Who are you?" Deidara had said, too surprised to even remember to take out a knife to defend himself from possible attack.

"It's me," the boy replied, his voice not rough and gravelly like Hiruko's, but smooth like the pebbles in a riverbed, and Deidara raised an eyebrow. "Who else could it be, brat?"

"Sasori no Danna…?" Deidara said incredulously. He stared after the kid who had pretended to be his superior all this time. At least it made sense, somewhat. His small frame would've been able to easily slip into the hunched back of Hiruko without a problem. "Is that really you, hm?"

"Why, is there something wrong?" snapped Sasori, walking over to his puppet shell that was now split open from the top.

"Uhh, yes there is, hm. First of all, you have no right to be calling _me_ a brat, when _I _should be your superior. Why did they let a kid join Akatsuki, hm? Jeez, and I thought this place was all filled with scary people, hm."

Sasori, who had been tinkering with Hiruko's arm, whipped around to glare at the blonde, obviously pissed off. "For your information, brat, I am much older than I look, and therefore have every right to call you a brat as I wish. And secondly, I can be very 'scary' myself even without Hiruko so you'd better watch that mouth of yours before I sew it shut."

Leaving a speechless Deidara to gape after him, the redhead got up and left the room with the door slamming shut.

Although he would never say it in front of him, Deidara personally thought Sasori was much less intimidating when he was out of the shell than in it, and therefore felt the courage to continue an argument when normally he wouldn't, eventually making a fuming Sasori chase after him with a few choice poisons.

He had soon come to realize, however, that a more humanoid Sasori wasn't any more exciting than a Hiruko-Sasori.

In fact, every time Sasori was out of his shell he seemed to be crankier than usual. Perhaps it was because his face wasn't hidden by a black mask like Hiruko, but it was evident that he didn't like to socialize.

Aside from the occasional frowns and glares he threw at the blonde once in a while, Sasori remained emotionless. Deidara wondered how someone could possibly go that long without making _some sort _of facial expression, but apparently Sasori could. The first contradictory statement Deidara heard him say was that he hated waiting and making people wait. Deidara knew that Sasori could sit stiller than a log for hours on end without making a single sound. He didn't know how he did it, but he'd always been strangely fascinated by it in some twisted way.

After the incident, whenever they went on missions and had to stay the night somewhere, Sasori seemed to have realized that there was no point in staying inside Hiruko since Deidara had already seen everything. Every time Deidara would walk out of the bathroom, he would be greeted by the sight of red hair and a normal body, and not the looming figure of Hiruko. The idea that the puppet master had warmed up to him a little was somewhat comforting, although Deidara would never admit in his life.

As the days went by, the clay bomber would notice that his partner never ate or slept. He wondered if he did it discreetly, perhaps inside that puppet of his, but then he couldn't understand why anyone would do that. When he had asked the redhead, he did not get an answer for a while.

"What's it to you?" he said finally, not looking at the blonde.

"I'm not concerned," Deidara said, unsure if it was true or not. "I'm just curious, hm."

"This body does not age," Sasori said after a moment's hesitation. "I'm sure you've noticed. It's because I have become true art. I am my own masterpiece."

It took a while for Deidara to grasp the notion. When he did, his blue eye widened slightly. "You're… a puppet?"

Sasori nodded, a glint of pride in his usually dull eyes.

Deidara however, could not bring himself to smile. He had a horrible sinking feeling in his heart, trying to fathom what Sasori had done. Seeing him proudly presenting the fact that he had turned himself into a lifeless doll was not something he could be happy about.

"Why would you do that to yourself, hm?" Deidara had whispered. "You're not… _human._"

Sasori had just met his gaze calmly. "I had every reason to do this to myself. I have become the ultimate art, something that will last forever. I am perfect."

"No, you're not, hm." Deidara had said softly. "You're not perfect. You are a mess, Sasori."

"What did you say?" Sasori's voice had turned dangerously quiet.

"Turning yourself into this… _thing _isn't beauty. There is no such thing as something that lasts forever. You will die too, one day. And you will have no idea what your life was like because you've become this_ object_ that can't feel anything a normal body can feel, hm."

"I am a masterpiece," insisted Sasori stubbornly, his eyes flashing. "There is nothing else that can last longer than I! I've acquired something better than a weak, pathetic human body, and that is what will grant me victory in battle. Emotions are useless. They are one of the main reasons why people get killed and I will not allow myself the weakness."

"You can't feel _anything, _Danna," Deidara said and tried to reason with him, although he didn't know why. It was already too late, wasn't it? Sasori couldn't go back to his old self even if he wanted to. But _he_ was human, he just couldn't stand seeing his partner rotting away because of this childish, poisonous dream.

Sasori wouldn't hear any of it.

Deidara had given up trying to make his partner understand that day. That turning yourself into a puppet wasn't going to make you live any longer. Because in truth, on the day he believed his 'masterpiece' to be complete, Sasori had only succeeded in killing himself.

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	3. Chapter 3

If there was one thing Deidara hated other than Sasori's view on art, it was the silence. Even if there was no talking, the clay bomber needed some sort of noise to keep his ears occupied.

If not, he felt like he was deaf, and the very thought of it was agonizing. To not be able to hear his beloved explosions going off was a nightmare, to put it simply.

On missions, he would concentrate on the footsteps of his feet and his partner's, and in the base, he'd listen to Sasori messing around with his puppets, or just the general buzz of life around him. In the dark of night, he'd purposely rustle his blankets around to fill the silence, until he fell asleep.

Because of this, Deidara couldn't understand how Sasori enjoyed it.

Thanks to his impetuous nature, the clay bomber almost always did things that caused a miniature chaos on a regular day, intentionally or not. However, he soon learned that the redhead never acted simply because he wanted to for the sake of doing; never swung his arms too much when walking, never did things idly, not without a purpose.

He filled up the spaces in between his 'important duties' with silence.

One day, Deidara had been bored enough to be curious about what his partner actually did in his free time, other than taking his puppets apart. He'd made his way over to their rooms, surprised to see the door ever so slightly ajar. He pushed it open slowly, and poked his head in.

Sasori was sitting at his desk with his wooden screws and puppet parts strewn around, but he wasn't working. In fact, he wasn't even facing the right way. He was slouched in his chair with his back halfway turned towards the door, but Deidara could still see his face. The unblinking eyes were dazed, spaced out, cast down onto his lap, where his hands lay facing upwards. He didn't even seem to notice the blonde staring at him.

Deidara had never thought his partner would allow himself to zone out like that. He'd never actually thought about it, but now that he did, Deidara realized that Sasori never talked to anyone else unless absolutely necessary. No one really sought him out for a conversation, either. Not even Kisame, who enjoyed a light conversation with most others from time to time. Who would want to talk to a puppet, Deidara thought, it's not like they can share thoughts and expect him to understand.

The clay bomber had always felt somewhat left out whenever he saw other Akatsuki members absorbed in small talk without him, but seeing his partner like this, made him think that Sasori was probably lonelier than anyone else in the organization. That maybe he didn't quite enjoy the silence as much as he says he does.

But it didn't affect his performance in the end, and so Deidara didn't care.

Or so he thought.

As the days went by, Deidara caught his partner zoning out more and more, until it finally came to the point where Deidara was trying to speak to the redhead, and eventually found himself talking to practically no one. Sasori would blink and his eyes would focus sullenly back to him, saying he was listening, but anyone could tell he wasn't. One day, Deidara had gotten so fed up that he snapped at his partner, asking what the matter with him was.

"Nothing is," Sasori had said, his face unchanging. "You're imagining it."

"The hell I am, hm," Deidara said exasperatedly. "I'm not a god damn fruit fly. You think I don't see you sitting there staring at nothing? Give me some credit, Danna."

"I don't know what you're talking about, brat," insisted Sasori calmly. "You're delusional."

"Is it because you have no friends, hm?" Deidara had apparently stabbed the right place, because Sasori blinked. "Or maybe you're just jealous because I am better at talking to people than you are. So maybe you're dreaming of a world where you have more charisma than I, hm."

Sasori had just scoffed and turned away. "You wish, brat. I couldn't care less if you have a louder mouth than me. I'm more than content to keep mine shut lest I say something stupid, like you seem to have a major talent in." With that, he refused to touch the subject any longer.

Deidara wondered if he'd imagined it, but it was definitely there and he saw it, no matter how vague. There had been sadness in the dull, brown eyes.

For the first time in a long time, he regretted his words.

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	4. Chapter 4

Unfortunately, it was no secret that Sasori and Deidara weren't exactly on beautiful terms, and that in itself was a clear understatement. Each time they would claw at each other's throats, the rest of the Akatsuki members would immediately depart the scene or pointedly ignore them until Deidara started pulling out his clay, where someone would have no choice but to step in. Even Sasori would break his normally impassive mask and look unjustifiably angry.

"What the fuck is your problem, blondie?" snapped Hidan after one particularly long argument one morning that lasted over three hours, and Deidara had almost blown up half the base apart in his rage. "Stop trying to bring the Jashin damned place down! I keep hearing the ceiling creak these days and it really pisses me off, you know?"

"I couldn't give a whole bucket of shit if it pissed you off or not, hm!" Deidara had roared back, his adrenaline level rocketing towards the heavens. The lounge had immediately become a battlefield, and things got so intense that Kakuzu ended up dismembering the immortal and dragging him away with an apathetic glance at the clay bomber, the red-faced head of the Jashinist spewing endless, incoherent curses from his filthy mouth. Deidara stormed back to his room and threw himself onto his bed, yelling out profanities into his pillow.

He knew he was being childish; allowing all this to get to him so easily wasn't something a trained assassin would do. There was no use being obstinate, but he sure as hell shouldn't have gone gallivanting around the base blowing things up for no reason. It just gave Sasori the satisfaction of victory. Groaning in frustration and struggling with the oncoming regret, Deidara smothered his face into his pillow even further, to the point of suffocation. He continued to lock himself up in his room for the next few days, thanking every God he knew that Sasori had been called away for a solo mission.

However, peace did not last for the blonde. Not only did he hear Kakuzu telling Hidan to pack up for their mission since Sasori was coming back, the Jashinist started ranting on about how the redhead said he had heard about Deidara's self-confinement, and wanted to see for himself. To make things even worse, that night, he heard the door open and someone step inside.

"Go away, hm," said Deidara bitterly, his voice muffled inside his usual pillow. "I don't need to listen to you making fun of me."

"Thanks for the nice greeting. I'm not here to taunt you," came Sasori's voice. "In fact, I'm not even here to talk to you."

Deidara sat up at this, and glared at the redhead irritably. "Then what exactly are you doing right now, hm?"

Sasori fixed him with an imperturbable gaze, but it was obvious that he was annoyed as well. "Perhaps you haven't understood yet, but I'm not interested in feeding your ego with my undivided focus."

"What? You think I'm doing this for attention?" Deidara snarled, his fists clenching. "For your information, _Sasori, _it's not my fault that I think art is fleeting, hm. It's because it is, and you're just too lost in your childish dreams to understand it. You let your selfishness blind you from facing reality, it being that nothing lasts forever, not even you and your stupid puppets!"

"And just what sort of reality is this?" Sasori's eyes had gotten dark in the past several seconds; they went from brown to a dark, stormy mahogany. "One that you created in your mind to make yourself feel better? Or even to assure yourself that you're not just an insane terrorist bomber who likes to watch people blow up? Is this fear, Deidara? Fear that you're not normal like other trained assassins? Fear that you won't fit in somehow? Emotions like that make you weak. It will kill you one day, Deidara, and you know it. If you truly wish to live, then become like me, something that is eternally young and free of silly weaknesses as such."

"Danna, you're already dead," Deidara said, exasperated. "You have no right to be telling me what it's like to live properly, hm."

"I am alive," Sasori growled, his jaw clenched and taking a step forward. "I am very much alive just like any other. Just like my art! Foolish kids like you think they know so much about life. But you know what, actually? I'll teach them the truth. It will make them realize that they've been living a lie their whole life, and they'll be able to see the world for what it truly really is. And they'll be able to adapt, like me. You wait and see, brat."

Deidara was taken aback to see a mad glint in the redhead's eyes. This was probably the longest he'd ever heard the puppet master speak without pausing. No one spoke for a long time, and the tension was so thick that one could've cut right through it with a knife. Sasori continued to glare maliciously at the blonde. And because of this, Deidara was able to see through his partner's façade. After all that time of being unable to predict him, he finally understood the reason behind it all.

"You're scared, hm," Deidara stated, feeling his rage rapidly fade away into a strange new calm. "That's what you've been the entire time."

"What?" Sasori frowned, his eyes scrutinizing the blonde. "What are you talking about, brat?"

"You refused to believe it, so you did everything to get rid of it, yet you're still afraid." Deidara breathed deeply, strangely relieved. "Come on Danna, just say it, hm."

"I can't feel," Sasori said flatly, his expression quickly turning into an impassive mask again. "So I don't know what—"

"You can't feel things _physically_," corrected Deidara. "But you still have your heart. No matter how many times you say you don't have feelings, it's not true, hm. Emotions aren't something that's felt by nerves, it's all from here," He pointed to his chest, "and here." He tapped on his forehead.

"The only reason why I have my heart in a container is because I need to make chakra, you idiot!" hissed Sasori, now taking a step back. "Not because I wanted to remain a sentimental fool!"

"There's nothing wrong in being a fool once in a while, hm," Deidara said, approaching his partner slowly. "It's what makes us human."

"But I'm not!" snarled Sasori, who had backed up enough that his back hit his work table. "I am no human! I left that behind a long time ago. I've become much better and stronger than my pathetic excuse of a family, who threw away their wretched lives because of_ sentiment_. I won't do something as foolish as that. I will live forever as a masterpiece!"

"Look at yourself, Sasori no Danna." Deidara gestured to him. "You're not a puppet. You're not human, either. Just what exactly are you, then, hm?"

He received the ever so hateful silence as an answer. Sasori continued to hold his glare, but it was visibly crumbling. In the end, he clenched his eyes and jaw shut, his legs giving out and he slid to the ground. He buried his fingers into his messy red hair and balled them into fists, trembling slightly. He sat there for a long time, and Deidara watched him with a hint of pity. His own, self-cast illusion had been broken, and he'd finally woken from his dream.

"What am I?" he had finally whispered to nobody.

"You're Sasori of the Red Sand, hm," Deidara answered without hesitation. "The real one."

That day, Sasori had wept. But of course, he had no tears to shed.

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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I was... er... well, no excuses: being lazy, I admit it. Apologies once more! But all animosity aside... Enjoy!**

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Deidara may have been called a crazy terrorist bomber and a pyromaniac, but he was still no dunce.

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't a complete sadist like Hidan, either.

He did have the concept of privacy.

No matter what they say, he wasn't going to get any enjoyment by watching Sasori suffer in front of him. Because even with all the times they've yelled and screamed things at each other, they were still partners, and the clay artist respected that relationship.

Deidara left to give him some space that night, and went to go sleep on the lounge sofa.

Since the base was carved into a rock cliff, it would get very cold once the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Missing the warmth of his heated room, and regretting not bringing a blanket with him or something, Deidara curled up on the uncomfortable couch and fell into an uneasy sleep.

In the morning, Kisame had found a shivering blonde sprawled on the floor, his skin clammy and pale. Confused as to why he would deliberately choose to sleep in the particular area of the base, he had gone over to the puppet master's shared room and knocked until he answered. When he told Sasori about it, the redhead just looked at him with an unreadable expression, before wordlessly closing the door on his face. Scratching his neck, Kisame headed back to get ready for his next mission.

When he returned to the lounge five minutes later, Deidara was gone.

~*o*~

One thing the clay bomber had learned from that night was that a cold, hard surface was the worst possible place for any human being to sleep on. So that's why, he was in for a surprise when he realized he was surrounded in soft, white fabric that differed greatly from the threadbare cushions of the lounge sofa. Cracking a bleary eye open, he saw that he was lying in his own bed. He sighed in content, relishing the warmth of his blankets and he couldn't help but smile into his pillow, too exhausted to even wonder why he had ended up here in the first place. He felt as if he could stay like this forever…

Unfortunately, the rest of his sleep was chased away by the hollow sounds of wood colliding against each other, and so he reluctantly dragged himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Once they focused, the first thing he noticed was that he was not alone. Surprisingly, Sasori was sitting at his usual work desk on his side of the room, tinkering with one of his puppets with his back facing the blonde. Deidara tensed, watching the redhead warily. Well, at least he hadn't made any move to kick him out yet… However, it was probably best to just leave him be. Deidara got out of bed as quietly as he could, and he gingerly put a single step forward, hoping his partner would ignore him.

His hopes were in vain. "Being sneaky, are we?" Sasori's sudden voice sounded unnaturally loud to Deidara's ears after the elongated silence. The blonde jumped about a foot into the air before rushing to collect himself, cursing himself for being so jittery. He cast a glance over to his partner who hadn't made a single move to look at the clay artist, and continued working on the puppet's arms.

"Not in particular, hm." Deidara relaxed his composure after a moment and stalked over to his cabinet, where his Akatsuki cloak was neatly folded on top of his other clothes. Funny, he hadn't realized he'd put that there before…

"Tch." Sasori shrugged him off before he went on fixing the wooden joints that seemed to be causing him severe problems.

"Why am I here, hm?" Deidara slipped his cloak over his shoulders and sat down on his bed, and decided that being straightforward would be the best way to free the palpable tension.

The redhead paused in his movements, and turned around to give the blonde an annoyed look. "No one asked you to be. You can go outside and blow up the stuff you call 'art', for all I care."

"No, hm. I meant, why am I _here _here?" pressed the clay artist, making sure to keep his face impassive. "I slept on the couch, if I remember correctly."

Something flickered in the redhead's face when he heard that statement, he lowered his gaze from Deidara's blue eye, until he turned back around completely. "No one told you to spend the night in the lounge, brat," he said quietly, reaching for his puppet again. But anyone could see that he wasn't working, because his shoulders stayed stiff and tense while his hands barely moved. One could even dare to suggest that he looked a little uncomfortable.

"You brought me here, didn't you?" Deidara said finally, dropping the ignorant act.

"I did no such thing," Sasori snapped back. "Why would I waste my time on a brat like you?"

"Then how did I get here?" argued Deidara heatedly. "I obviously couldn't have magically teleported back to my bed, hm, no matter how much I wanted to."

"Maybe you sleepwalked or something!" Sasori snarled, slamming his fist into the desk. "Stop asking me things I don't know about!"

"Danna, what's wrong with admitting to bringing your partner back to their room because you were worried about them?" Deidara said in a puzzled voice, and he didn't back up when the redhead swivelled around to send him a vicious glare. Nor did he comment on the puppet master's unusually edgy mood today, which was rather unlike him. "No one's going to make fun of you for it, hm."

"Listen here," hissed Sasori; if he still had a real body then his face would've gone as red as his hair by now. "I don't spend my energy on worrying about bratty kids like you. You'd better stop talking nonsense or I'll make sure you die a slow and painful death."

"No, you won't, hm." Deidara got up to his feet and stretched, yawning.

The dark, brown eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "What did you say?"

"That's like what, the hundredth time you've threatened me now? Well, you still haven't made a single move to kill me so far. So I know that you won't hurt me on purpose, hm." He smiled lightly as he passed the redhead, who stared after him speechlessly with disbelief. "By the way, hm…"

"What?" snapped Sasori a little too hastily, although his eyes were now cast down onto his lap.

"Thanks, Danna." It wasn't just a simple 'thank you' for bringing him back to his room. It spoke of a whole other level of gratefulness that needed no audible voice for the redhead to understand. The door shut quietly between them with a soft 'click'.

.

.

.

"…You're welcome... brat."

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